


Imitative Origins

by Aloysius



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Enjolras doesnt even like cats that much, Grantaire has too many cats, Kittens, M/M, This is really ridiculous im really sorry, kittens everywhere
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-09
Updated: 2013-07-09
Packaged: 2017-12-18 06:48:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/876845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aloysius/pseuds/Aloysius
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If there is one place Enjolras does not want to be, it is living on Grantaire's couch. </p><p>He does not, as it happens, even want Grantaire as a room mate.</p><p>He certainly doesn't want Grantaire's other room mates as his room mates either.</p><p>But it appears he doesn't have much choice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Imitative Origins

**Author's Note:**

> Many many thanks to [Eddie](http://spaceparked.tumblr.com) for betaing this for me!
> 
> This fic literally came from my desire to write Grantaire with a load of cats. I apologise for any formatting errors!

If there was one place Enjolras did not want to be, it was Grantaire’s apartment. It wasn’t particularly the area the apartment was in - although the word ‘unsavoury’ did spring to mind - but it was more the fact that, based on Grantaire’s personal appearance, the apartment was no doubt an absolute tip. He did not relish the idea of having to sleep on a couch covered in litter with half a pizza stuffed behind the cushions, but he _was_ desperate, and pizza-couch was better than no couch at all.

Besides, it was raining.

Grantaire had unexpectedly given Enjolras his umbrella, insisting that since he was carrying around nearly all of his worldly possessions he should probably try and keep them dry, and had the most waterproof of Enjolras’ bags slung over his own shoulder. He was soaked, water flying off him as he threw his weight against the front door, jiggling the key angrily and swearing.

"Sorry, it sticks, just give me a moment." He flapped his hand at Enjolras, then turned to put his back against the door and delivered a swift kick. It finally swung inwards, and Grantaire stepped back to grandly wave Enjolras inside. “After you."

Enjolras ducked within and took a minute to shake his hair dry and relish in the warmth, listening to Grantaire swearing as he tried to get the door to lock again. He felt something brush against his foot and froze, the thought ‘dear sweet Jesus, he’s got rats’ rushing into his head, but when he looked down there was only a small kitten sitting on his shoe. It looked up at him and mewled, then went to rub itself against Grantaire. Grantaire picked it up, letting it put a paw on his face.

"You have a cat."

"Cats. Plural. Cup of tea?"

He swept past Enjolras into the kitchen, leaving droplets of water on the floor as he went. Enjolras was relieved to find the kitchen mostly immaculate. There were several dirty paintbrushes strewn around the sink and a few bills scattered across the table, but otherwise it was surprisingly clean. Grantaire took a towel from a pile of clean washing and began drying his hair on it as he stripped off his shirt and tossed it in the washing machine. Enjolras was about to question the location of the rest of his cats, when he felt a sudden weight on his leg. There was a tiny black kitten with its claws firmly attached to his jeans. He tried to shake it off gently, but to no avail.

"Courfeyrac!" It released its grip when Grantaire lifted it off gently. “Sorry, he’s a little shit. Just like the real one." He gave it a mock stern look and set it down on the table where it mewled defiantly.

"What do you mean just like the real one?" Enjolras leaned back against the wall behind him and was gifted with another cat climbing carefully onto his shoulder from where it had apparently been lurking on the shelf. He reached up to pet it and it nuzzled into his hand, almost overbalancing.

"They’re named after my friends. They all live up north still, but they’re coming down here soon. Some of them want to do masters degrees and Jehan insists he’s more inspired down here." He shrugged, and detached Courfeyrac from his shirt. “It was his idea I name the cats after them. He was joking; I don’t think he was expecting me to take him seriously." He smirked.

Enjolras gestured to the kitten still sitting on his shoulder. “And this is…?"

"Combeferre." He pointed with his foot to the kitten that had sat on Enjolras in the hallway. “That’s Jehan."

"Three cats is quite a few."

Grantaire laughed loudly. “Three! Hear that Courf’? He thinks I have three!" Courfeyrac mewled back at him.  
"Well, how many do you have?" Enjolras scowled. He wasn’t a fan of being laughed at.

Grantaire beckoned him over to the living room, scooping Jehan into his arms as he went. The living room was also blissfully tidy, except for a stack of papers that were knocked unceremoniously onto the floor by a cat that hissed at them as they entered and disappeared under the bookcase in the corner.

"That’s Eponine," Grantaire clarified. “She’s new." He set Jehan down who wandered lazily over to lie next to a tabby kitten a little bigger than he was. “Joly." Grantaire was trying to shake Courfeyrac from his shirt again. He gave up and pointed out a lump in the curtains. “Bossuet." Under the table. “Bahorel."

"That’s seven. You have seven cats."

"Hey, well done! I didn’t know you could count!" Grantaire chirped sarcastically.

Enjolras frowned and transferred Combeferre from his shoulder to his arms.

"Bathroom’s down the hall." Grantaire pointed, with Courfeyrac now attached to his sleeve. “I’m sure you’d appreciate a hot shower right about now." Enjolras smiled gratefully.

He had to put Combeferre down as he searched through his bags for dry clothes, listening to Grantaire singing - and occasionally yelling fondly at various cats - as he finally got around to making a cup of tea. Combeferre followed him all the way to the bathroom, but Enjolras shut him out. He didn’t exactly want to be stared at by a kitten while he undressed.

 

Combeferre was sat outside waiting for him when he came out of the bathroom, warm and dry, and mewled loudly until Enjolras gave in and picked him up again. Grantaire was sitting at the kitchen table sketching (Courfeyrac was on his head by this point, wrestling with the curls excitedly) and pushed a cup of tea towards Enjolras without looking up.

"I made the couch up for you, but expect to wake up with this little bugger on your face." He gestured with his pencil to Courfeyrac.

"I’m more worried about this one." Enjolras pointed at Combeferre with his mug.

Grantaire smiled at him softly. “He likes you."

"Yes, I figured." He huffed, sipping his tea.

"Not a cat person?"

"Not an animal person." Enjolras amended.

Grantaire smirked at him, setting his pencil down just in time to catch Courfeyrac as he slid off his head. “You’re gonna love staying here."

"I’m sure." He drained the last of his tea and stood to make for the living room, stopping to look over his shoulder as Grantaire called his name softly.

"You’re welcome to stay as long as you need. I’m sure I can acquire an air bed."

Enjolras nodded, his hair falling in his eyes. “Thank you. I appreciate this."

 

He did, in fact, wake up to Courfeyrac on his face. He dislodged him gently, despite the noisy protests, and set him down on his chest next to Combeferre. Bahorel was sitting on the floor next to Enjolras’ sweatshirt, where Jehan was sleeping. The lump in the curtains was still there, but had moved from one curtain to the other.  
Sitting up slowly, he attempted to shoo the kittens off him, but Combeferre climbed up to his shoulder and Courfeyrac dug his claws into Enjolras’ thin nightshirt. Sighing dramatically, he stepped over Bahorel - who made a dive for Enjolras’ foot - and sat Courfeyrac in his hand so he wouldn’t fall. Grantaire was already up, hair wet from the shower, sitting at the kitchen table with a mug of coffee and something in his lap.

"What is that?" Enjolras enquired as he tried to bat Bahorel away. “Oh, you absolute menace."

Grantaire looked up and grinned. “Yeah, he’ll do that. And this is Feuilly." The something is his lap moved, and Enjolras groaned.

"Eight cats."

Grantaire pointed at him. “Nine, I’d say."

Enjolras deposited Courfeyrac on his head and smiled sweetly. Grantaire thought it looked alarmingly out of place on Enjolras’ usually emotionless face. He turned to retaliate, no doubt with what he thought would be a witty comment, then guffawed loudly.

"What?" Enjolras huffed.

"Nice shirt."

The shirt Enjolras wore to sleep in said ‘I don’t need sex, the government fucks me everyday’ in large letters.

"Thank you. I think."

"I never knew you had a sense of humour."

Enjolras pointed at Courfeyrac pulling at Grantaire’s curls.

"Touché, Apollo. Tou-fucking-ché."

 

Grantaire had errands to run so promptly disappeared after breakfast, leaving Enjolras a list of instructions on how to properly care for the kittens and promises of an air bed if he did a good job. Caring for the kittens was easier than he expected; Courfeyrac clung to his shirt, Combeferre made a home in his shoulder, Jehan made a nest in the clean washing. Even Bossuet emerged from behind the curtains, falling off the top of the bookshelf (onto Enjolras, who was inspecting the blurb for a crime novel), disrupting Eponine in the process who shot across the room, skidded uselessly as she tried to turn and disappeared into Grantaire’s bedroom.

Feuilly was at least quiet and well behaved, and was content to sit in Enjolras lap as he read, with Courfeyrac in his hair, Combeferre on one shoulder, Joly on the other, and Jehan moved from the washing basket to settle in the folds of the blanket at Enjolras’ feet, slowly pulling it further off of Enjolras every time he moved.

Truth be told he didn’t even notice when Grantaire came back, but one minute it was ten o’clock and he was reading, and then suddenly it was one o’clock and Grantaire was home. And Bossuet was tangled in the curtains again. Grantaire was in a battered armchair in front of the bookcase, sketching frantically and occasionally looking up to squint at Enjolras.

"Grantaire. What _are_ you doing?"

"Stay still."

"But-"

“ _Stay still._ "

He rolled his eyes but complied, despite Courfeyrac’s attempts to rip his hair from his skull. “Did you at least get the air bed?"

"Yes, Apollo, I got your air bed. You will still wake up with Courfeyrac on your face. Rather you than me!" He shot Enjolras a beaming smile and kept sketching.

Grantaire had, Enjolras noticed, an old record player, which was playing a soft piano piece quietly. Oddly enough, Enjolras found that trapped under a blanket, covered in kittens, listening to old records while being drawn by his alcoholic artist friend, was the most relaxed he’d been in a long time.

 

Posing for Grantaire inevitably became a habit, as did having Combeferre climb all over him. Feuilly made a home for himself quite quickly, and eventually even Eponine settled down, but still lurked around the bookcase. Enjolras was reluctant to admit it, but he was slowly becoming a cat person.

"My friends are coming down on Friday." Grantaire said airily around the paintbrush clamped between his teeth. He’d somehow managed to persuade Enjolras to remove his shirt, and had him lying on his stomach with a blanket draped across his lower half. This probably had something to do with the fact Grantaire was still mad about the fight they’d had the day before, and Enjolras admittedly felt a little guilty. Only a little, and only because he’d insulted Grantaire. He still stood by his principles. “You know," Grantaire added “This would look better if you were, well, less dressed."

"You insisted on the blanket."

"Not that." He gestured wildly in the general direction of Enjolras’ rear end “Get them off."

Enjolras gave him a level stare for a good few minutes before finally sighing and wiggling them down beneath the blanket. “Better?"

Grantaire reached over to pull the blanket down so the small of his back was on show, the blanket starting to cover things just at the point before Enjolras would become uncomfortable, and then tugged it down further. Enjolras glared at him and pulled it back up, and for a few moments they were locked in a blanket tug of war, Enjolras threatening to get up and Grantaire threatening to kick him out, before they eventually reached a happy medium. “Much better." He then grudgingly admitted “You have lovely skin, you know. Especially in this light." He gestured to the fairy lights he’d rigged up in his room to experiment with, then went a little red and put his head down.

Enjolras rolled his eyes. “What time Friday?"

"Early."

"How early is early?" Enjolras moved to swat Bahorel away with his foot and received a paintbrush thrown at him for his efforts.

"Well, their train gets in at six."

"In the morning?" Enjolras looked horrified.

"Yes, in the morning! Problem?" Grantaire gave him a cheery, sadistic grin.

"Well, have fun getting up that early to meet them." Bahorel jumped up onto Enjolras back and he groaned.  
Grantaire pushed his hair back with a headband and replaced the brush in his mouth with a cigarette.

“You’re coming too."

"Interesting theory."

"Yes, what an interesting theory that my friends would want to meet the roommate I’ve been telling them about, and what an interesting theory that I wouldn’t want to get up at the crack of dawn to drive across London on my own, and how interesting I expected you to not be selfish." He glared at Enjolras over the canvas.

Enjolras shifted a little uncomfortably. “Are you painting me with horns over there?"

Grantaire paused, then threw his head back and laughed. “Yes, dear Apollo. I have made you a demon." He leant around the canvas to give Enjolras an easy smile. “Look, I was rude -"

"No," Enjolras interrupted. “I said some awful things and I didn’t exactly mean them. Well, I mean, I didn’t mean them be offensive and I’m sorry."

Grantaire blinked at him in surprise. “Have you ever apologised for being rude in your life?"

"No."

"I’m honoured. I’m going to put it on my gravestone. ‘Enjolras apologised to me’." He smirked, then looked up again sharply. “‘Didn’t mean them to be offensive’. So you did mean them?"

Enjolras squirmed. “Yes, but constructively."

Grantaire watched him for a minute, blowing smoke into the air, then nodded. “Okay. Something to think about, I guess. You’re still coming with me on Friday."

"Of course."

Courfeyrac took that precise moment to pounce, claws out, on Enjolras exposed back.

 

Friday was raining and cold. They’d had another argument on Thursday about Grantaire’s drinking, which had somehow led to Enjolras drinking instead and lolling on the sofa petting Combeferre lazily while Grantaire drew on his back in sharpie. Needless to say he wasn’t feeling too great Friday morning, and whilst Grantaire was intending to stay mad at him he just couldn’t help himself but forgive him. He watched Enjolras stumble around for a while, tripping over kittens that mewled for his attention, before eventually taking pity on him and giving him coffee and painkillers.

He fell asleep in the car on the way to the station, and Grantaire hadn’t the heart to wake him up when they arrived. He greeted Jehan, Courfeyrac and Combeferre quietly, and insisted they not wake Enjolras up. He had to insist several times before Courf’ agreed, but he did eventually get him quietly in the car. Jehan was cooing in that motherly way as he often does, and had taken off his coat to drape over Enjolras.

Courfeyrac did, to his credit, keep quiet for about five minutes, but Combeferre was sitting between him and Jehan and their quiet conversation soon turned to shouting, which started Enjolras awake. After that he seemed to decide it was a free for all and his voice returned to his normal volume, which was to say, very loud. He decided that while Grantaire was driving was absolutely the perfect time to teach him to play yellow car ("If you see a yellow car, you hit someone, but you have to say ‘no return’ or they can hit you back"), and whilst he was distracted Jehan and Combeferre took the opportunity to introduce themselves, Jehan insisting the whole time that Enjolras should keep the coat. He nearly fell asleep again on the way back (but was kept awake by the odd shout of “yellow car, no return!"), and when they pulled up at Grantaire’s apartment Combeferre was kind enough to guide him half asleep up the steps. He decided he liked Combeferre.

Courfeyrac, as it happened, did not like kitten Courfeyrac. Kitten Courfeyrac liked Courfeyrac’s shirt a lot. He definitely liked jumping out from behind the potted plant and digging his claws in, which at least got a smirk from Enjolras. He huffed when he had to hand Combeferre to Combeferre, and sat in the living room under his blanket with Joly on his lap, nursing a mug of coffee in a vain attempt to wake himself up. Grantaire and the others were gathered around the kitchen table with coffee and almost every kitten (save Bossuet in the curtains and Eponine on the bookshelf), catching Grantaire up on what had happened since he’d left and discussing sleeping arrangements. Eponine stood up and knocked a book from the shelf, which Enjolras managed to catch. He gave it an approving look before opening it, shifting Joly slightly so he could cross his legs under the blanket.

"Interesting choice."

The sofa dipped as Combeferre took a seat next to him. Combeferre kitten squirmed out of his arms and climbed up to Enjolras shoulder. He reached up to pet him absent-mindedly.

"Eponine chose it. She has good taste."

"Evidently. May I ask how you found yourself staying here? Grantaire can be very vague when he wants to be." He took a sip of coffee and grimaced. “Two sugars, _my arse._ "

Enjolras pulled a face in return. “Severe disagreement with my parents. I knew Grantaire from Uni’ and he offered me his couch."

"He was doing art and you were doing…?"

"Law."

"Odd, that you’d become friends."

"He spiked my coffee, and it was downhill from there."

 

Combeferre guffawed. “I rest my case. Odd."

"Aren’t there more of you? Based on the number of cats, I mean."

"They’re heading down later. Although how they got Joly to agree to use public transport is beyond me." He rolled his eyes fondly, then mussed Enjolras hair gently. “Go to sleep, Enjolras." He took the coffee cup from his hand and went back to the kitchen, where Jehan was lifting Jehan kitten up to his face and squealing in delight when he put his paws on his nose.

Combeferre, Jehan and Courfeyrac would be staying for a few months. Enjolras gave Joly a worried look.

 

He fell asleep on the sofa, and woke up with Combeferre-kitten licking his hand. Actual Combeferre was sitting in the armchair opposite him, scribbling in a notebook.

"It’s one in the afternoon." He informed him. “Brace yourself before entering the kitchen."

"Thank you for the warning?"

"Will you be taking a masters this year?" Combeferre inquired, setting his pen down.

"Yes, I will."

Combeferre smiled softly, pushing his glasses up with his middle finger. “Perhaps you’ll see Grantaire on campus."

Enjolras frowned. “He didn’t say he was going back."

"It appears there are a lot of things he keeps from you." He muttered to himself as Enjolras swept into the kitchen, blanket trailing behind him.

The kitchen was, in short, pandemonium.

Through lack of chairs, Jehan was balanced on Courfeyrac’s knee, with Joly-kitten tangled in his braid. Surprisingly, Bossuet was perched in his lap. Jehan waved at him cheerily when he came in, and suddenly he was the centre of attention.

"Gents, Madame, may I introduce Enjolras?" Grantaire gestured to him grandly, and the man stood next to Grantaire started nudging him in the ribs.

"Pleasure to meet you." He tried to drop the blanket in a dignified way, and was rescued by Combeferre sweeping past and taking it with him.

Grantaire gestured first to the man who’d been elbowing him, who was now wiggling his eyebrows. “This is Bahorel." He reached over to shake Enjolras hand with a firm grip. He noticed that Bahorel’s knuckles were bruised, and his cheek cut.

The man on Bahorel’s other side leaned over and extended his hand to Enjolras, introducing himself with a smile. “Joly, a pleasure!" His hair was sticking up a little in the back, Enjolras noticed, and he looked flushed. Courfeyrac had noticed this also, because he pointed it out loudly. Joly’s face fell, and he clapped a hand to his forehead. “Am I burning up? I can’t tell if I’m burning up. Bahorel, do I feel hot?" He replaced his own hand with Bahorel’s, who looked disinterested.

"No, mate, you’re fine. Take your jacket off if you’re worried."

Grantaire steered Enjolras in the opposite direction and whispered “hypochondriac doctor" in his ear. He pulled on the sleeve of a tall ginger man in a t-shirt printed with a Polish flag design. “This is Feuilly, and his charming young friend is Bossuet." Bossuet tipped an imaginary hat to him, and Feuilly shook his hand.

"We’ve heard a lot about you!"

"Yes, I can imagine." Enjolras shot Grantaire a reproachful look, and he at least had the decency to look sheepish.

"And this charming lady is Eponine." He said quickly, trying to change the subject. Eponine sent him a critical look.

"Cute." She clarified. “But he looks high maintenance."

"I am not!" He spluttered, ignoring Bahorel roaring with laughter behind him.

"He costs me a fortune in shampoo." Grantaire said gravely.

Enjolras tossed his hair from his face with as much dignity as he could muster and crossed his arms over his chest. Beside him, Combeferre was chuckling behind his hand.

"Traitor." Enjolras hissed.

"Oh, don’t worry." He assured Enjolras. “They’ll grow on you soon enough."

 

Alarmingly, they did.

Courfeyrac was difficult to deal with, especially in the morning. He was the type to sing loudly in the shower and seemed to be friends with half of London by the end of the week. He was at least out of the flat most evenings, out at someone’s party and most often bought home drunk at three in the morning. He was a terrible influence on Grantaire.

Feuilly and Combeferre he was very fond of. Feuilly came over a lot and would lounge in the living room with a delicate fan in his hand - often one he’d made himself - and teach Combeferre Italian, which he was also self-taught in. He had, in fact, taught himself eight languages, as well as how to make fans, which astounded Enjolras. Combeferre he liked because he was quiet and neat, and had a motherly sort of sense to him. Enjolras spent the most time with Combeferre.

Jehan seemed to have as much of a problem with flowers as Grantaire did with cats, since the plant pots seemed to multiply daily, to the point where Enjolras could barely see out of the window due to all the foliage in the way. He wouldn’t mind, if they hadn’t started appearing in his own room. Jehan also had a habit of writing poetry on anything that stood still long enough, which Grantaire actively encouraged. He also had a habit of waking up extremely early and making a lot of noise in the kitchen. Given that Enjolras - still on the air bed in the living room - was closest to the kitchen, this meant he got woken up more often than not.

Jehan offered him a cup of coffee one morning as he wandered in after being woke up at the joyous time of six thirty, and waved him over to sit down at the table.

"I’m writing." He informed Enjolras. He was at least doing it in a notebook and not on the furniture this time. “You’ll help me, won’t you? Of course you will. Describe Grantaire for me."

Enjolras looked at him for a second, one eyebrow raised. “He has blue eyes and -"

"No, no, _no_." Jehan flapped his hand in annoyance. “More than that. I don’t want you to describe how Grantaire looks, I want you to describe Grantaire."

Enjolras thought about this for a minute. Hesitantly, he began with how Grantaire kept a cigarette behind his ear and swapped it with a paintbrush when he wanted to smoke; the fact he’d get the desire to read at ridiculous times at night and would stumble blindly into the living room without turning the light on. How passionate he got when he talked about art, how graceful he looked when he danced, the soft look his face took on when he talked to one of his cats and the infuriating one he only seemed to give Enjolras. The way he spent most of his time with paint on his face and the way his nose scrunched up when he laughed and the fact no blue paint ever seemed to match the colour of his eyes -

Enjolras stopped mid sentence and covered his mouth with his hand. Jehan was smiling at him softly.

"Go on."

"Is Grantaire asleep?" Enjolras inquired from behind his hand.

"Sleeping off a hangover with Courf’, who has ‘diva’ written on his forehead in permanent marker." Jehan giggled a little behind his own hand.

Enjolras nodded and lowered his hand. He _liked_ Grantaire. Jehan was looking at him expectantly, but Enjolras wasn’t quite sure what to do with this information.

"You did that on purpose." He said instead, giving Jehan an accusatory look.

"I don’t know what you’re talking about." He looked the picture of innocence, even more so when Little Joly came mewling up to him and he scooped him up to cradle him against his chest. “But I do happen to have two tickets to a performance of Swan Lake on Saturday evening, which may just happen to be Grantaire’s favourite. Perhaps you’d like to accompany him?"

"Never have I known such a romantic fiend, Jean Prouvaire." But Enjolras smiled as he said it, and Jehan slid the tickets across the table.

 

Enjolras had no idea what to wear to the ballet.

He’d sprung the tickets on Grantaire that morning, much more awkwardly than he’d hoped. Grantaire had stared at him for a moment, then slowly gone bright red as a grin stretched across his face. This had then proceeded to happen every time he’d looked at Enjolras all day, much to Courfeyrac’s delight.

He ended up with Combeferre and Jehan going through his clothes critically.

"Black shirt, white jeans?" Combeferre questioned.

"Why do you even _own_ white jeans?! Enjolras, _no!_ " Jehan cried. He put them aside and frowned at them.

"What about the red checked shirt?"

"Acceptable. That’s a maybe." Jehan folded it neatly and handed it to Enjolras.

"Would you please just pick something already? We’re going to be late and _I am never late._ "

"Hush, you want to look nice don’t you?" Jehan gave him a stern look.

Enjolras picked up Little Combeferre, who was mewling at his ankles, and cuddled him protectively.

"You know, I’m sure Grantaire will have a good time regardless of what Enjolras is wearing." Combeferre said supportively.

"Do you want to look nice or do you want to look like a hermit?" Jehan said bluntly to Enjolras. “Because most of the time you look like someone dragged you through Primark kicking and screaming and you grabbed the first things you saw regardless of whether they matched or not just so you could get the hell out of there."

Enjolras gave an unimpressed look. “There is nothing wrong with my clothes."

Jehan held out an oversized sweater with a bold flower print across it. “Even _I_ wouldn’t wear this."

"It was a gift!" Enjolras spluttered. “Combeferre, help me!"

Combeferre shrugged. “I’ve been told what his opinion of my dress sense is, I’m keeping quiet. At least this way you know you’ll look nice, right?"

Enjolras nodded reluctantly.

"Oh! Oh!" Jehan cried suddenly, holding up a red v-neck jumper. “This, this, wear _this_! Simple but smart." He snatched up Enjolras black jeans and held them out to him expectantly. “Get changed."

Enjolras gave him a pointed look. Combeferre smirked and took hold of Jehan’s arm.

"I don’t think he wants you to watch."

 

The kitchen was crowded when they left. Most of their friends were watching Courfeyrac juggle as Grantaire ushered Enjolras down the hall, but Joly looked positively overjoyed for them and waved cheerily as they ducked past the kitchen. Grantaire was as red as Enjolras jumper, which he complimented him on several times. He had to admit, Jehan did sort of know what he was doing, which was alarming since most of his wardrobe seemed to consist of jumpers like the one he criticised Enjolras for.

He and Grantaire almost got into an argument in the car as Grantaire drove them to the theatre, almost, but Enjolras promised to keep his opinions to himself for the rest of the night. They instead steered the conversation towards music, and Grantaire put the radio on and sang along loudly. He began to elbow Enjolras in the ribs.

"Come on, I know you know the words to this."

"Watch the road!"

Grantaire rolled his eyes. “I am watching the road. I don’t need my elbow to watch the road. Come on, loosen up and sing with me."

Enjolras crossed his arms. “No. I can’t sing."

"Yes, you can, you were singing _Golden Brown_ yesterday morning while you made toast."

"I thought you were asleep!"

"None of us were asleep. Come on, one song and I’ll sign that petition you keep going on about. I’ll even turn it up so I can’t hear you."

Even with the music up, he could still hear Grantaire belting out the lyrics like his life depended on it, a grin etched on his face. Reluctantly, Enjolras joined in. He had a feeling Grantaire would not let him forget this.

 

He enjoyed the ballet more than he thought he would. He’d seen Grantaire dance, of course, but he assumed he just enjoyed watching him because it was him. At some point during the performance his hand found Grantaire’s. He wanted to ask if it was okay, but knew Grantaire would be mad if he talked during the performance. He waited a few tense seconds to see if Grantaire would pull away, but he squeezed Enjolras’ hand and pulled it towards himself.

By the end of it, Enjolras was slumped with his head against Grantaire’s shoulder whilst Grantaire gently stroked the back of his hand with his thumb.

It had dropped cold outside, and Enjolras had not bought a coat, given that when they’d left he’d been too busy fussing over his appearance and getting nervous to grab one. Grantaire took off his scarf and wrapped it neatly around Enjolras’ neck.

"Fish and chips?" He suggested. “I know a good place. They’re pretty generous with portion sizes. Come on, I’ll buy."

Enjolras started to protest but Grantaire shut him up quickly. “You took me to the ballet, let me buy you dinner."  
"I’ve been living with you for months and you refuse to take rent. Let me pay you back."

"You took me to the ballet." Grantaire repeated.

"Let me buy you dinner." He insisted.

“ _Enjolras._ "

“ _Grantaire._ "

They stared each other down for a moment, arms folded, before Grantaire sighed and took Enjolras’ hand.  
"You can buy me dinner another night, okay?"

"Fine." Enjolras tried his best to look annoyed, but it was hard when he was squeezing Grantaire’s hand and smiling shyly.

 

Grantaire directed him to go grab a bench in the park opposite the fish and chip shop, and when he came back balancing their dinner in his arms, Enjolras was sat on the edge of the fountain with his legs crossed. Grantaire handed him a neatly wrapped parcel, then sat down next to him.

"Courfeyrac’s probably wrecked your apartment, you know." Enjolras was glad to have the parcel sitting in his lap; it was keeping him warm. He picked his fish apart with his fingers and licked vinegar off them. Grantaire gave him a scandalised look. “What?"

"Oh, nothing, nothing. You know, he told me earlier he and Jehan have found an apartment." Grantaire’s chips were soaked in curry sauce, and it was covering his hands.

"Oh. You know, I think I’d miss Jehan. Is Combeferre staying?"

Grantaire nodded, reaching over to take some of Enjolras fish. “Permanent fixture, I think. I like him." He smiled softly.

It reminded Enjolras he still didn’t have a place of his own.

When they were done, Grantaire reached over to wash his hands in the fountain, and acting on some unknown impulse Enjolras grabbed his hand and licked the sauce from it. They both went red simultaneously, and Grantaire began to splutter.

"Um- Just- The fountain. It’s unhygienic." Enjolras explained hurriedly.

Grantaire took Enjolras’ face in both of his hands and kissed him urgently.

 

The apartment was empty when they got home. Enjolras sat down in the hallway to greet the kittens that rushed out to get him as Grantaire dashed around the apartment calling everyone’s name and checking to see where they could be hiding. Upon determining that _yes,_ they were completely alone, he dragged Enjolras into his bedroom by the scarf he still had around his neck, and they breathlessly fell onto the bed in a mess of limbs, all frantic kisses and soft touches. Enjolras didn’t think he’d ever stripped so fast in his life, and then Grantaire was in his lap, his hands in Enjolras’s hair and Enjolras’ mouth on his neck. Grantaire was scandalously loud, which suited Enjolras just fine, and he dug his nails into his shoulders and pulled at his hair and had the most beautiful pink flush to his cheeks.

Enjolras would have to remember to thank Jehan.

After they collapsed to the bed together, they lay propped up on the pillows, looking out of the window and playing with each other’s hair. One of the kittens was mewling outside the door, until Enjolras reluctantly got up to let them in. Feuilly and Joly pushed their way past Enjolras and onto the bed, and if Grantaire was uncomfortable having kittens sitting on him while he was naked, he didn’t show it. He and Enjolras looked at each other for a minute, then began to laugh.

 

It was Combeferre that found Enjolras an apartment eventually. He was reluctant to move out, at first, but given his study habits he knew it would be best when he started university. Jehan did keep saying ‘absence makes the heart grow fonder’, after all. There was an unspoken agreement that it was only temporary, and that Grantaire and Enjolras would move in again together at some point.

Joly and Combeferre helped Enjolras move in while Grantaire painted murals on the wall. “So you’ll think of me every day!" He said.

"I’ll think of you everyday anyway." Enjolras sat on the kitchen counter drinking tea as Grantaire painted birds on the cupboards.

"I will miss you, you know." Grantaire said as he switched the paintbrush for the cigarette behind his ear. “Calm down," he said before Enjolras could tell him not to smoke inside. “It’s electric."

Enjolras nodded. “I’ll miss you too. Who else is going to wake me up at four in the morning by walking into a bookcase?"

"Or get paint on your notes." Grantaire stood and wiped his hands on his jeans.

"Or put a kitten in my hair."

"Or bribe you to sing." Grantaire kissed Enjolras on the nose.

Enjolras smirked and hooked his fingers through the belt loops on Grantaire’s jeans. “I’ll ring you every morning when I make breakfast and sing to you." He promised. “But only if you let me talk to my cats on the phone."

Grantaire chuckled and wrapped his arms around Enjolras. “Absolutely. Whatever you say."

Grantaire almost didn’t leave. Enjolras finally managed to persuade him out of the apartment with kisses and promises to call him every day and take him for lunch, but he rushed back in a few minutes later with a moving in present.

"I’m afraid I can’t bear to part with Little Combeferre, no matter how fond he is of you, so…" He gently passed a tiny kitten to Enjolras, as if it was the most normal thing in the world.

Enjolras smiled, then said decisively, “His name is Grantaire."

**Author's Note:**

> http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=d7R7q1lSZfs
> 
> Come say hello on [Tumblr](http://hoshgeldinkardeshim.tumblr.com)!


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